


There is a Need

by limerental



Series: Farm Verse [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blowjobs, Denial, Fat Thor, Happy Ending, M/M, Pillow Princess Thor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental
Summary: Thor can be so delightfullyneedyat times, slipping into petulance as his patience slips, and Loki finds himself goading him into it more often than not, feigning reluctance, acting out lazy indifference until he physically can't any longer. It's perhaps not Thor's neediness so much as the feeling of beingneededthat Loki craves.





	There is a Need

**Author's Note:**

> Written within the universe of Another Ghost in this Town but can be read standalone
> 
> inspired by a post by thors-soft-cheeks on tumblr
> 
> it's just pillow prince chubby thor being very needy and that's that

One morning in the farmhouse, Loki wakes to a distant rumble of thunder and a light fall of rain on the attic roof. He blinks open his eyes to see Thor already sitting up in bed, surrounded by down pillows.

“Is that you?” Loki asks as the wind blows a few errant drops against the window. On a good day, they have an excellent view of the sloping pastures from their attic bedroom, but today, the grey rain obscures it.

“Might be,” says Thor. A flicker of lightning lights the room and a little while later, another rumble. It isn't uncommon these days for Thor to stir up a storm if he feels like lying in bed longer than usual. “Wake up,” he says, nudging Loki in the calf with his toe. “I'm bored.”

Loki huffs and rolls away from Thor, curling around his body pillow. He is not very fond of mornings where the sun never quite rises.

“Not my problem,” he says, content to settle back down into the lazy warmth of not having anywhere in particular to be and nothing expected to go disastrously wrong if he lets his guard down. Which is, unsurprisingly, something he has never really experienced in his life until now. He has been taking advantage of the opportunity to do nothing at all as often and as liberally as possible.

“But Loki,” Thor says. “I'm _bored_.” He emphasizes the word more suggestively than before. 

_Ah_ , thinks Loki. Well why hadn't the idiot just said so?

He rolls back over to face Thor, knowing his frizzy bedhead must be doing him no favors. Thor is looking at him adoringly anyways. He has also pushed the sheets down below his legs and is decidedly and temptingly naked.

“And what do you want me to do about that?”

Thor all but smirks, tucking an arm behind his head and adjusting his hips. He isn't hard, in fact nothing about him could be described as hard, all round curves and warm mound of belly.

Thor has never been ashamed of his nudity, perhaps because he has so little to be ashamed of. Even at his new size, no longer leanly muscled and taut but pudgy and soft to the touch, it has not taken long for Loki to convince him that he has just as much reason to take pride in his body as he always has, if not more so. The extra girth just seems to suit Thor.

It simply makes sense to Loki, having seen the spectacle of a massive thunderhead towering over the hills, having felt the air pressure settling down and static crackling before a summer storm, having stood on the edge of the front porch while the wind made a rippling ocean of the treeline beyond the pasture, that Thor fits best in a form that is large enough to contain all that potential energy. He is larger than life, humming with power, and it manifests in his round belly and heavy thighs and the rolls along his waist.

“What do I want you to do about it? I want you to get over here,” Thor says and stretches, his stomach straining up, dick lying soft against his pale inner thigh. Loki's fingers twitch with the urge to touch the soft spots where his thigh dimples with faint stretch marks, but he restrains himself. 

If Thor is really so bored, let him prove it.

“Hmmm,” Loki hums, shifting onto his stomach. He too is naked, the thin sheet that covers him slipping down his slender back. “Sounds like you'll need to find some way to entertain yourself.”

And he nestles back into the downy bed, content to wait Thor out.

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor all but whines. “Don't be stubborn.”

Loki pretends he doesn't hear him, tucking himself more firmly around his pillows as though he means to settle back into sleep. He finds he almost could, the light fall of rain on the roof becoming a soothing blur.

There is silence for longer than expected, broken only by the slight sounds of Thor shifting beside him. The shifting soon becomes less slight and more rhythmic, and the blur narrows back into focus.

“Are you--” He tips back toward Thor and cracks an eye open to find that yes, Thor is.

Stroking himself to hardness that is. His hand curls lightly around himself, just teasing, a loose rise of his hand. The flesh fills and reddens beneath his dimpled fingers, and Thor does not pause under Loki's stare. 

It is mesmerizing, the give of soft skin going slowly taut, the slick of his foreskin over the head and back down again. Thor draws his hand back, allowing Loki a moment to admire the hard line of him against all that softness, curving up to jut against the mound of his belly.

“Come here,” says Thor in a rumbling whisper, and Loki's body almost obeys at once before he remembers himself and the game he is enacting. Instead of hitching himself over Thor's body and kissing him silly, Loki plays at yawning and stretches out on the bed, making to settle back down.

“Sounds like you have it all handled,” says Loki, and Thor frowns at him with what could certainly only be a pout, though Loki knows he will face swift retribution if he ever calls attention to it. Meaning he does fairly frequently call attention to it and with great gusto. But not today. “I am much too exhausted.”

“It's almost midday,” says Thor.

“Yes, well, who was the one who blotted out the sun, hmm?”

Thor grunts.

As they speak, Thor has not stopped his stroking, fully hard now and glistening with arousal. Loki _could_ easily lean forward to touch Thor's enclosed fingers as they move, slither between Thor's parted thighs and indulge. But he doesn't do so.

There is something about Loki's rapt attention alone that seems enough to draw a thrill of pleasure from Thor. His languid movements transition to a more deliberate rhythm, breath beginning to come in small pants and sighs. 

Thor can be so delightfully _needy_ at times, slipping into petulance as his patience slips, and Loki finds himself goading him into it more often than not, feigning reluctance, acting out lazy indifference until he physically can't any longer. It's perhaps not Thor's neediness so much as the feeling of being _needed_ that Loki craves. 

Thor is never put off by the insistent denial, has no shame in asking until Loki gives in, because he knows he will, as surely as anything. In their quiet retirement in the humble farmhouse, it's become a game between them, with unspoken rules that they both know intimately.

Thor asks and asks again, knowing Loki will always acquiesce in the end. Thor says, wordless, _I need this_ and Loki hears also _you are someone worth needing, and I will follow you, always, anywhere, for our paths are one and I walk beside you_. Loki says, _not now, be patient_ and he is also saying _please don't ever stop reaching for me_.

Thor sprawls back in the bed, occupying far more space than need be, his skin flushed pink, still touching himself, his spare hand rising to cup the curve of his stomach and move up along the sparse hair at the deep dip of his navel.

Loki yearns to echo the touch. 

He restrains himself, knowing he can yet inspire in Thor a dissolution from asking into begging, and he sorely aims to.

Loki sits up for a better look at Thor, the sheets pooling in his lap. He finds he cannot resist at least one small point of contact and curls his fingers around Thor's ankle, thumbing at the spot where the coarse hair on his leg gives way to tender, bare skin. The simple touch has Thor's eyelashes fluttering, a low moan breaking from his lips. Denial has always worked this way on Thor, a small touch after prolonged refusal almost enough to wreck him completely. 

“Loki,” he breathes and stills in stroking himself, maybe hoping that Loki will decide to take over. “Come on, _please_.” He demands so more crossly than before, his hips shifting and legs dropping wider. “Touch me.”

“You're doing a fine job yourself,” Loki says, attempting nonchalance, peering down at his fingernails as he sits up in bed, but he can't quite hide the wobble in his voice and he isn't quite looking at his fingers.

Thor's thighs are broad and dusted with soft hair that grows denser where his inner thigh dips and also along what can be seen of the round curves of his very generous behind. Loki knows his slim angles fit between those thighs neatly, that he could easily move to heft the weight of one leg and drag Thor to him without any protest, with babbling encouragement even.

But Loki waits.

He trails a dainty finger along Thor's muscled calf and hums. 

“What was it that you wanted, then?” he asks, voice dropped low, and Thor's dick twitches against his thigh as he speaks. 

“You already know,” Thor says. “Please, Loki, stop this foolishness.”

“Do I?” he asks with entirely unconvincing, doe-eyed innocence, and Thor groans in frustration.

“ _Lo_ -ki,” he groans.

“Yes?” 

“Come on, you bastard.”

“Now, now,” says Loki. “No need for that.”

A nearby crack of thunder interrupts them, lightning skewing across the walls. The storm outside has intensified, the wind lashing rain against the attic window.

“There is a need,” says Thor, through gritted teeth. “A great need.”

“Tell me,” says Loki. The air has condensed with static, his chest tightening with it. There is a building pressure behind his eyes, in his throat, between his legs. “Ask me.”

“Will you--” asks Thor, and Loki interrupts him with a cool hand on his thigh but no more than that, holding still. Thor gasps, quivering. “Will you _please_ \--?”

“Yes?”

Loki expects _put your hands on me, touch me, pleasure me_ , he could even handle _please fuck me_ , and he would do so gladly and with great enthusiasm.

But Thor pushes himself up on his elbows, and he says, “I need you, Loki.” In a kind of wrecked, desperate voice that tips Loki immediately off the edge. He can't not clamber to take his place between Thor's spread legs. He can't not lower his head and place a kiss on the ridged underside of his cock.

Thor groans and his elbows give way and thunder splits over the house so close the beams rattle.

Loki takes him into his mouth.

“Please,” Thor is saying. “Please, _please_ , yes.” 

The taste is all ozone and summer sweat, and he lets his tongue flatten against the head, just holding a moment, and then he swallows to move down the length of him. Thor is still rattling off demands muffled by a hand pressed against his face. 

Loki pulls back.

“What was that?” he asks, his breath ghosting across the heated skin he just wet with his lips, and Thor trembles. Faint static flickers across his wrists and palms, one pressed to his face, the other gripping the sheets. Despite the midday hour, it has gone dark in the room, and the blue light illuminates and crackles.

“Need you,” Thor is saying. “Yes, _yes_ , you better not stop.”

And Loki doesn't. He dips his head, mouth stretching, and swallows around Thor, knows he will not last long in this state, that in regard to Loki especially, Thor needs so little to come undone.

He rests one palm on a broad thigh and the other seeks the round of his stomach, the soft roll of his waist, his hip. His belly bumps against the top of Loki's head, so much of him, a behemoth of a thunderhead in the shape of a man and all of him zeroed in on Loki like he is in the eye of a hurricane, asking this of him, demanding.

“Need you to--,” Thor gasps, pressing up into Loki's mouth, his hips rising from the bed. “Need you, brother, _oh_.”

He feels the lightning this time when it strikes, perhaps even striking the farmhouse, a quick, electric snap like a tingling punch to his nerve endings, and Thor is finishing in his mouth, flickering all over. The thunder that breaks over them is cacophonous, thrumming in Loki's skull, and he swallows deep and draws back just enough to gasp a breath as he comes himself, untouched except by tongues of blue light that leap from Thor in earnest.

His ears ring for a long time after, and they breathe together, Loki's head against Thor's thigh, Thor's eyes closed, mouth open.

Gradually, the storm dissipates, the thunder rolling gently instead of crashing, the rain fading to a drizzle. The clouds open up and a yellow stream of sunlight falls on the bed through the dusty window.

“Right then,” Loki drawls lazily, beginning to rise. “Now how about we actually--”

He quiets upon realizing that Thor is snoring gently, stone cold asleep. He is glad for it, because the fond look that passes across his face then must be something incredibly embarrassing.

And though he's decidedly not tired now, he knows what he is most needed for is these moments. The ones where he could certainly get up and go about his day while Thor sleeps, could go anywhere in the galaxy really, because he is free now, truly, for the first time in his life. 

He finds no desire to do so. 

Yawning, Loki curls back down into the sun-warmed bed, and he stays.


End file.
